Star Trek: New Frontier, the Invasion of 2381
by Lord-Sylph
Summary: In the Star Trek: Destiny trilogy, there's a short paragraph or two, mentioning how everyone's favorite band of Starfleet's Misfits managed to take out a Borg Cube singlehandedly, but exactly how, is never mentioned, only alluded to. Neither is it detailed what happened. I aim to correct that with this, I doubt it will be very long, but strap yourselves in nonetheless!
1. Chapter 1: An Inconvenient Interruption

January 24th, 2381 A.D.

2200 hours

Galaxy-Class Exploration Cruiser,

U.S.S. Excalibur NCC-26517-A

" _SHH-THUNK!_ "

A black-shafted arrow split the air, where, until moments ago, a violet-eyed ex-warlord had been. Mackenzie Calhoun threw himself into a powerful dive, rolling onto his shoulder to lessen the impact, narrowly avoiding certain death at the hands of one of the many Medieval foot soldiers currently combing the woods for the former Xenexian warlord. As he came up on one knee after his evasive roll, he swiftly scanned his immediate surroundings, searching for the owner of the offending arrow.

Microseconds after beginning his search, he had already identified the source of the deadly projectile, a lone archer, equipped with a British longbow, a pair of quivers full of broadhead arrows, and a single medium-length sword, more an extra long dagger than a sword, but deadly none the less at close quarters.

The archer, shocked that he had somehow managed to miss his quarry, neglected to make the most of Calhouns' current position. Namely, that he was kneeling on the ground, recovering from his tumble.

Shocked as he was, he was only immobilized for half a second before he reacted to the new circumstances, attempting to fire off another arrow, from the quiver on his back. That half second was a quarter of a second too long. In that brief period, Calhoun had already gotten to his feet, chosen a course of action, and executed said strategy. Leaping towards the archer in long, swift, sprinting strides, closing the 25-30 foot gap nearly instantly.

Too late did the archer realize the danger he was in, by the time he tried to draw the short sword he carried as a backup, Calhoun was standing in front of him, a feral grin twisting his features. Before the archer's sword was even withdrawn an inch from its sheath, Calhoun's much longer Xenexian Steel blade was buried to its hilt in the archers lightly armored stomach. With a wet squelching noise, and a quick shove, the lifeless corpse was pushed to the ground, the silvery-white blade now stained with streaks of deep red.

The current threat dealt with, M'k'n'zy, as he was named at birth, swiveled his head rapidly, searching for his next target. Only to find that he had made a fatal mistake; he had neglected to stay aware of his surroundings as he dealt with the unsuccessful archer.

Now he found himself in a much more dire situation than before, for on all sides of the Violet-eyed warrior, were armor-clad footmen. Twenty, wearing light plate armor over chainmail. Each carrying a one handed sword, and a small and round iron-banded wooden buckler.

No fewer than five fully armored Knights, astride horses wearing similar armor to their riders, a lance held firmly in their right hand, and a massive tower shield in his left.

Behind all these, was a force of no fewer than forty Archers, all armed similarly to the one Calhoun had just dispatched. All of whom wore expressions of fury, as they saw the body of one of their comrades, laying bloodied and still on the forest floor.

With a dry, mirthless chuckle, the beleaguered warrior wiped a hand across his forehead, and gripped the sword in his hand a little tighter.

"Sixty-five to one huh? Well, I can't say I like your chances of winning. This'll be simple." With these words, and a roar of outrage from the assembled soldiers, the five Knights swept in, the hooves of their mounts thundering upon the grassy forest floor, lances pointed directly at our intrepid warrior.

Calhoun took a deep breath, and _moved_. There's simply no other way to describe what he did, from one instant to the next, he had sidestepped the first of the charging Knights, the thick iron-tipped ash-wood lance sliding past its intended target by mere millimeters, the owner of that particular lance immediately attempted to reign his mount in as he attempted to find his erstwhile target. In his frantic attempt to stop his horse, he failed to notice one of his fellow horsemen struggling to do the same in front of him. With an explosive clash of metal and horseflesh, and the startled yells of men and the pained screeches of their horses, the two knights collided, one lance plunging into the other Knights horse's side, with that Knight's lance impaling his fellow warrior, slaying him instantly.

In the confused mess of thrashing limbs in the makeshift arena, none of the assembled soldiers noticed several of their number around the large circle fall, massive slashes across their torsos pouring blood down the front of their armor. After five or six had fallen, the ring of archers outside the main circle took notice of the disturbance, and launched a flurry of arrows at the sprinting figure of Calhoun, who at that moment was engaging no fewer than four of the foot soldiers in close quarters combat, his blade flashing back and forth, cutting thick rifts in the iron reinforced bucklers, swiftly beating the once circular shields into a less-recognizable shape, reminiscent of a leaf left in the sun.

As the cloud of deadly projectiles descended towards the one-sided battle, Calhoun continued to decimate the foot soldiers arrayed against him, attacking with such speed that the opposition had no time to react, let alone try to attack themselves. With milliseconds to spare, Calhoun caught a glimpse of the swarm of arrows out of the corner of his eye, grabbed a mangled buckler from the dead hands of a fallen opponent, and began to swing it around to his front, in a last ditch effort to protect himself from the hissing storm of death plunging towards him.

Picoseconds before the first arrow drove itself through the shield, everything stopped, the arrows, the soldiers, the breeze, the clouds in the sky, everything, right down to the shifting of the garments worn by the opposing forces, it all ceased to move. A silent few seconds went by as Calhoun took several rapid, deep breathes, the adrenaline from intense combat still flowing through his body.

Before he had a chance to wonder what had happen, the small delta-shaped disk of Duranium alloy clipped to his belt gave of two quick ascending chirps.

" _Chir-CHIRP_!"

As he reached towards the small communications device, a loud siren began to wail in the background, and his comm-badge began to speak in the voice of Burgyone 172, his former Chief Engineer, and current First Officer.

"All hands, Yellow Alert. Captain Calhoun to the Bridge. I repeat, Mac, you're needed on the Bridge."

With a frustrated and resigned sigh at the untimely Yellow Alert, Captain Mackenzie Calhoun, Commanding officer of the Galaxy-Class Starship, USS Excalibur, N.C.C.-26517-A unclipped the commbadge from his belt and brought it to his lips before responding to his First Officer in the exasperated tone he saved specifically for this sort of occasion. "I'm on my way Burgy, you'd better have a VERY good reason for disrupting my workout session..."

"A Priority One Classified message straight from the top Mac, straight from Starfleet Command." the former Chief Engineer replied hurriedly. "And it seems urgent, Miss Primus is picking up distress beacons from all sectors of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, whatever the hell's going on, it's most definitely not good."

And on that delightfully cheery note, the First Officer closed the channel, leaving hir* Captain deeply troubled by the news. With a resigned sigh, Calhoun addressed the Holodeck's computer system. "Computer, Save program 'Calhoun Workout 5' and end program."

With an acknowledging chirp, the forest battleground faded into the familiar black and gold grid of a standard Galaxy-Class Cruiser's Holdeck suite. Still in the tattered and bloodied medieval-style trousers he'd replicated for the workout, and the thin woven shoes worn by peasants of that era, the Captain hurriedly made his way towards the nearest turbolift shaft, not even bothering to stop by the ship's SickBay and have Dr. Selar treat the various cuts and minor bruises he had accumulated during his 'light' workout session.

*A/N, yes, You read that correctly, 'hir' Burgoyne 172 Is from a race known as the Hermats, a furry species of hermaphrodites resembling...well, I'm not exactly sure WHAT they resemble (I guess just humans with a cat-like fur coat...?), but they ARE hermaphrodites, therefore they require the use of specialized pronouns, ie, hir, s/he etc

so, what'd y'all think? This is my first 'real' fanfic, originally it started as a 3 page Creative Writing Assignment I wrote back in the 9th grade, about 5-and-a-half years ago. Late last year, at the suggestion of my little sister, I made an account on Wattpad, and found myself intrigued by the idea of writing fanfics, though there's a discouraging lack of Star Trek fanfics on Wattpad, and though 'why don't I re-write that assignment I did years ago?' So, after weeks of procrastinating, re-familiarizing myself with the New Frontier universe, and generally working up my self confidence. I posted chapters one and two of my rewritten story, and asked a couple authors I respect on Wattpad to read it and give me pointers. I'm gonna do the same here, and ask that anyone who reads this leaves a review, and any suggestions as to what I could do to make it better, thx y'all! Till next time!

NEXT TIME!

"...And The Struggle That Followed"


	2. Chapter 2: The Bridge

January 24th, 2381 A.D.

2215 hours

Galaxy-Class Exploration Cruiser,

U.S.S. Excalibur NCC-26517-A

Making his way through the corridors of the ship, Captain Calhoun encountered only a few members of his crew, mostly security officers stationed at various intersections due to the Yellow Alert.

As he passed the small groups of phaser-toting crewmen, they hardly even blinked at their captains state of 'undress': shirtless, blood-stained and tattered breeches, and a single scabbard slung across his back, currently storing his Danteri-steel longsword.

The Captain's preferences when it came to 'exercising' were well known aboard Excalibur, and aboard this particular vessel, it was hardly the oddest thing they'd seen.

Calhoun chuckled to himself, reflecting on how aboard any other ship in the Fleet, he'd be sharply reprimanded, or possibly court-martialed. Especially for his habit of completely disabling the Holodeck's safety protocols. An act that was not just discouraged, but openly forbidden by Starfleet regulations.

Finally approaching a turbolift, he stepped in, and waited for the door to close before announcing his desired destination in two short, terse words. "Main Bridge"

At his command, the lift hummed into motion, rising through the network of shafts crisscrossing throughout the Excalibur's ovoid Primary Hull, swiftly rising to the uppermost level of the ship; Deck 1, the Main Bridge. The nerve center of the entire vessel. And one of the single most important locations aboard, with equal importance to Main Engineering: the Excalibur's throbbing heart of Matter, Antimatter, and Dilithium Crystal.

As the lift doors opened, Calhoun swiftly stepped out onto the upper level of the Bridge, just behind the Tactical Station, at which the ship's counselor, Lieutenant Zak Kebron stood as an imposing wall of brick (quite literally, as his species are composed of a substance with a rock-like hardness).

As he stepped around Zak's left side towards the lower level of the bridge, one of the younger Officers at an ancillary station, one Lieutenant JG Ronni Beth, (who had yet to realize that regulation is rarely, if ever, followed to the letter aboard Excalibur) jumped out of his seat and called; "Captain on the Bridge!" And was shocked and more than just a little horrified when he was only person to actually jump to attention.

"Settle down Lieutenant Beth, it's just the Captain, it's not anyone _too_ important" this snarky comment came from the 'middle-aged' (I use middle-age loosely because she's over 4000 years old) civilian women sitting at one of the two forward-most consoles on the Bridge. Morgan Primus, the immortal/unkillable mother of Lt. Robin Lefler, who had taken over for her daughter after Robin had married the former Thallonian Empire's Ambassador, Si Cwan.

"I resent that comment Morgan, as true as it probably is." Calhoun said, feigning a miffed tone of voice at the barely veiled insult. "Burgy, patch Starfleet's message to the display in my Ready Room please, I'll view it in there."

"I've already had it piped over to your terminal Mac." The Hermat First Officer replied casually, not even looking up from the PADD s/he was reading.

"Alrighty then, hold down the fort here, you have the Conn Burgy" as he said this, the Captain was already striding down the leftmost access ramp between the Fore and Aft sections of the Bridge, walking towards the corridor branching off of the port side of the Bridge, next to the Main Viewer. This particular corridor led to the Captain's Ready Room, a spacious, well decorated, and peaceful chamber that the Ship's current Commanding Officer uses as an office or private meeting area.

Stepping into the darkly lit chamber, Mackenzie Calhoun sidestepped around the bare desk, simultaneously unbuckling the strap that held his scabbard to his back. Seating himself with a slightly pained grunt (a memento from his interrupted training session) the Xenexian ex-warlord reached out with one hand and roughly rapped two knuckles against the transparisteel screen of his desk mounted terminal, bringing up the blue backdropped stars and golden laurel wreath of the United Federation of Planets' insignia. Tapping the screen again, Calhoun swiftly maneuvered through the various screens of the subspace communications program, bringing up the encrypted message from Starfleet's Command...

A/N Review please! I'm really bad with creating an actual plot, ^-^ so I've really got very little planned!

 **NEXT TIME**!: Bad News^60,000!


	3. Chapter 3: Bad News, REALLY Bad News

January 24th 2381 A.D.

2225 hours

Galaxy-Class Exploration Cruiser,

U.S.S. Excalibur NCC-26517-A

After verifying his identity as the current CO of the Excalibur, Calhoun selected the 'display message' icon on his terminal, and settled back into his chair for what he expected to be a long-and boring-communique from Command. Boy, was he ever wrong about that.

The ever-stern visage of Admiral Nechayev filled the touchscreen terminal. In the moments before the Director of Starfleet Intelligence began speaking, Calhoun noticed with a small amount of concern, that the Admiral seemed much more on-edge than usual. Whatever was going on in the greater galaxy, it must be extremely serious, to worry the tough-as-nails Admiral.

"As of this moment, the United Federation of Planets is at Condition Red. All Starfleet vessels are to immediately go to Red Alert, and maintain full combat readiness until further notice."

The Admiral's words, delivered with an air of urgency, prompted Mac to pause the message, and tap his commbadge.

"Mac to Burgy"

"Burgyone here Captain, whaddya need?" The Hermat inquired.

"New orders from Command, take us to Red Alert, bring Shields to full, and engines to 110% output, load the torpedo bays, and warm up the phaser arrays. I'll have further instructions in a few minutes" he replied.

"Roger that Mac, what's goin on?" His XO replied worriedly.

"Not sure as of yet Burgy, but whatever it is, it's got Admiral Nechayev all worked up, I'll tell you more when I can" with those parting comments, Calhoun tapped his commbadge again to close the channel, then touched his terminal to continue relaying the message.

"At 1600 hours, Galactic Standard Time, January 24th, the Starship Enterprise engaged and destroyed a Tactical Cube from the Borg Collective. Before Hostilities began, the Enterprise was hailed by the Cube, transmitting an automated declaration of intent. The message stated that due to the numerous setback's caused by the Federation and her allies, the Collective no longer desires the assimilation of the Human race. But rather it's complete annihilation." At this the Admiral paused to take a breath before continuing, perhaps to steel herself for her next words.

"The Borg have declared a war of extinction on the Federation and the governments of the Khitomer Accords, as well as all unaligned powers in the Alpha and Beta quadrants. They no longer intend to assimilate any races that resist , merely annihilate them."

Admiral Nechayev paused once again, schooling her features into a steely mask. "All ships will receive further orders detailing their specific assignments in separate communications, Starfleet out."

As the grim visage of the Starfleet Admiral reverted back to the stars and laurels of the Federation insignia, Mac slumped back into his chair with a distinct air of shock surrounding his person. Allowing a surprised whistle to escape his lips, he rested his elbows on his desk, and rubbed the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand.

"And to think, this morning, all I had to worry about was how badly I'd be injured during training today..."


	4. Author's Note (IM STILL ALIVE!)

So...yeah, it's been over a year.

my only excuse(s): life, and an abundance of laziness/lack of ideas/other things to do

i got a promotion (if you could call being assigned two problem students as "apprentices" a promotion)

my parents are moving to the house they plan to retire in, so we've been busy packing/cleaning/making sure the builders don't screw up that badly

On the other hand, I'm also working as an intern at the high school I graduated from, leaving me less time to do anything.

Now, if you know me (which I highly doubt) i have a physical inability to plan very hard ahead (or at least my shrink thinks so) that extends to most areas of my life. Unfortunately, writing is one if hide things, if I have an idea, I just vomit it all over the nearest electronic device, but I don't have any idea what comes next. This story definitely falls under that, I have a vague, extremely ephemeral idea of what I want to happen, but no idea how to go about it

which is why I'm trying to enlist an old HS buddy to help me with this project, I dunno if he'll say yes, but he's one helluva writer, much better than me. BUT! He's also very busy, he's training to be a Civil Engineer, which takes up most of his time (as you can probably imagine)

i cant promise a definitive date for the next chapter, but I'm meeting my friend this Wednesday to hang out, and I'll bring up the topic then.

Until next time,

Lord_Sylph


End file.
